


Namaste, Dean

by MoodyAquarius



Category: Supernatural
Genre: All the time, Apocalypse, Cas is high, Croatoan Virus, Dean is grumpy, Destiel - Freeform, End!verse, First Time, M/M, Smut, Spn Season 5, Supernatural - Freeform, Yoga, croatoan endverse, like always, ugh these two i hate them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 10:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2578727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoodyAquarius/pseuds/MoodyAquarius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>end!verse, Croatoan virus. People around camp are starting to notice Dean's anger problem is getting a little out of hand, Cas wants to help in his own special way... lololol this should be fun. </p><p>more chapters to come! <br/>thanks for reading:)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Namaste, Dean

**Author's Note:**

> if you do like this and would like to see more chapters, please do tell me because it's hard to prioritize fics and if anyone likes this i would like to be informed, that way i am more willing to update. 
> 
> xoxoxo

Thunder crackled in the distance, snapping and breaking over the distant mountains, signfiying it’s presence further with a quick flash of lightning. Rain soon followed, pouring down hard against the broken terrain. Thunder shook the small camp, rain ricocheting off the roofs of their cabins, sinking into the dirt. Mud caked around the trucks and tents, but at least the sound of the rain was nice.

It’s weird how even after everything was over, the remaining found their own cycle. Everything began to move again in it’s own organic way, life carried on despite what everyone had suspected. Given the right circumstances, people would rise to the occasion. Everyone had their own jobs, keeping the community of survivors surviving. Chuck had taken control over the niceties, keeping everyone sane and toilet paper in abundance. Food was monitored, Dean kept the fighting spirit alive and Cas…. Well, Cas ….

Dean wasn’t sure exactly what Cas was doing, the incense, the orgies, the drugs, the yoga classes. He’d flipped a complete 180. It was hardly Cas anymore, but Dean couldn’t bear his absence, so he held onto the tattered remains; keeping a distant, watchful eye. He often walked past his cabin, peeking in through the windows, the tapestries blocking the window giving off only body outlines. He saw a smaller figure meet with what he knew was Cas’ figure. He rolled his eyes, muttering to himself and continuing on to the ammo storage base.

The hippy bullshit he could handle… sort of, but the sex? That was strictly not Cas. It was weird to see him emerging out of his cabin every day looking unkempt, with residual sweat curling his hair into messy tufts. Every time he arrived at the weekly meeting of the “leaders” in Dean’s cabin his beard seemed to grow wilder and the bags under his eyes darker. He was starting to get even thinner than usual.

He stepped into the storage unit, scraping mud off his boots and shaking himself dry as much as he could, coming in through the threshold and shutting the door behind himself. Dean cocked his rifle open; loading a fresh barrel in, setting it aside and reaching at others. He often did this alone, it was therapeutic for him, the way the guns always opened, everything always worked how it was supposed to. No mistakes, no fuck ups.

A faint knock sounded at the door, followed by a soft, “Dean,” Chuck entered slowly, nearly tiptoeing into the storage unit, hands stuffed in his jacket. Dean set the rifle he was holding aside, throwing a careless nod over his shoulder, encouraging Chuck to speak. He cleared his throat, slim hands pawing at his beard in thought, or searching for confidence. “I th-thought you might wanna talk.” Silence passed between them, the sound of rain penetrating the expansive garage-like room.

“Who sent you?” Was Dean’s gruff reply. He knew exactly what this was about. Sure, he’d shot a guy today, a guy in their clan. So what? He was protecting all of them, the bastard was showing signs of the virus. What, was he gonna just sit around and wait for it to fester? No, because he was the leader and he had to make the decisions nobody else wanted to. They hated him for it, but who else would do the job?

Chuck made a nervous noise, fiddling with his hands more, “Nobody. I’m just, uh… If.. if you need to talk, man you know I’m alwa-”

“Cut the shit, Chuck.” His voice was sharp as knives. Chuck immediately shut up, throwing his eyes to the floor. He shifted uncomfortably, not knowing what else to try. Dean eyed him up and down, “Y’know, somebody has to be the bad guy around here. Somebody has to make the tough decisions the rest of you are too chicken shit to make, alright?” He was rough, voice shredding at the edges.

“Y-yes I know. I was j-just…”

“Just what? Spit it out.”

“Okay. Listen,” He tried to meet Dean’s eyes, “Some of the other people and I have been talking, and… well,” He shifted his weight to the other leg, “W-we think it’d be in everyone’s best interest if….” He sighed, “Dean, it’s just… You have an anger problem. C-Cas proposed a solution… so…”

“Cas?”

“Yeah.”

“What is it?”

“I dunno, he just asked me to have you come to his cabin.” Chuck raised his arms in defeat. Dean rolled his eyes, muttering to himself. Chuck asked again, softly, “Will you go? Please?” Dean grumbled.

“Yeah, fine, whatever.” Chuck, who sighed in relief, then vacated the room, leaving Dean to his weapon cleaning. Anger problem? Sure. Yeah, because he was the only one actually looking out for everyone’s safety. But sure, yeah he was the one with an anger problem. “Not my fault,” He muttered to himself, scrubbing grime off a pistol. After he’d gotten what he considered a fair amount of the artillery cleaned, he stowed it all away again and stomped off in the rain towards Cas’ cabin.

‘What the fuck could this possibly be about? Probably some new-age hippy bullshit.’ A part of him was afraid of what Cas would suggest, but he’d be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t curious. Through the mud and the rain, he made it to the cabin with the ridiculous bird house hanging from the column, along with weird plants and probably marijuana. He scrubbed his boots off on the welcome mat that read in curly cursive “Namaste” _‘I’m gonna puke.’_

He reached to knock, reluctantly, holding his breath. Cas answered from behind the door, calling, “It’s open!” Dean let himself in, seeing Cas’ figure off in the distance, sitting cross-legged in his bedroom on the floor. The cabin was sizeable, just the same size as his own, though Cas had desecrated it with weird shrines, gems, rocks, incense sticks and headache inducing tapestries hanging off the walls. Everything reeked of Nag Champa. Cas’ calm, deep voice rose to reach him, “Take your shoes off, please.” Dean rolled his eyes for probably the hundredth time.

He did, then walked toward him, entering the room but standing in the doorway, arms folded. “So what’s this about?” Cas rolled his shoulders like a cat, then his arms, stretching and working into moving before actually moving, turning his head to smile up at Dean.

His eyes were more hooded than usual, and red, a calm expression rested on his features, “I’m glad you came, Dean.” He slowly released his legs from their crunched up pretzel position, finally working his way into standing to meet Dean, a grin playing on the corners of his mouth. He cocked his head, much like he used to when he was a naive angel. “You can take that off if you’d like.” His eyes trailed over the rain spots on Dean’s heavy jacket.

He slid the jacket from his arms with caution, letting it fall to the floor in a heap. Cas reached forward to hug him, Dean returned the gesture stiffly. The strong remnant of pot smoke clung to Cas, stained into his clothes and skin. It wasn’t a bad smell, Dean liked it even. Incense and candles were burning on Cas’ drawers, the only substantial light source came off of a weak little lamp by his bedside. The room had an intoxicating aroma to it, he was sure Cas intended it to be that way, to accommodate Dean’s “anger problem”.

“Would you like any tea?”

Dean snapped, “When have you ever known me to drink tea, Chong?” Cas tilted his head, eyebrows coming together over his deep blue eyes. Dean shook his head, “Forget it. No, I don’t want fuckin’ tea.”

“Alright.” Cas shrugged.

Dean licked his lips, shifting from foot to foot, annoyed at Cas’ slow, labored pace. “Would you just get to the point, please? I’ve got stuff I’ve gotta do.”

“No you don’t.”

“What? Of course I do, I’ve got to-”

“I had Chuck take care of it. Consider your job done for tonight.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, “What is this? Some sort of ritual sacrifice? You gonna get me high?”

“If you’d like to we could indulge, yes.” He chucked to himself, stirring his own tea he’d been preparing. He heard Dean huff.  Dean stared at his dark, thick beard, feeling a slight twinge of jealousy of how easily Cas could grow such a substantial beard. He took a soft breath, sipping his tea and beginning to explain himself, “Dean I just want you to relax. Just for once, will you try? And I’m going to need your trust.”

“ _My trust?_ ” He folded his arms again defensively, “What are you doing, Cas?”

“I understand your anger, I do. I was the same once. There’s a lot to be angry about down here. Plus, everyone expects you to protect them, and that comes at a cost of course, your own mental health.” Cas sat on the edge of his bed, folding his legs up in that twisted looking way again, his facial expression was calm, serene, “I understand it, Dean. It’s not easy. I would just… like to ask you, to try and let me help.” He met Dean’s eyes with soft intensity. Dean tried to let his words sink in. He did.

“Thanks for your concern, but really I’m fi-”

“You are not _fine,_ Dean. Don’t lie to me.” He took a sip, “You may be able to fool them, but… not me.” He met his eyes again with the age of five years of knowing him resting in them, a wise wealth of knowledge about him hiding just behind his irises. His long fingers splayed out across his mug of tea, eyes trailing off somewhere else, looking at nothing in particular. “Would you give me your trust?”

It rested in the air like a deal, like a pact to be made. It scared Dean a little but…. this was Cas.. of course he could trust Cas. He clenched and unclenched his fists, muttering, “I guess… I’ll try.”  

“You mean that?”

“Yes.” Dean sighed, dropping his arms to his sides in defeat. “You’re not gonna do any weird hippy shit to me, are you?” Cas smiled.

“No, Dean. I just need you to listen to me.” He touched Dean’s shoulder gently, “Sit down, if you will, get comfortable.” Dean gave him a look, but sat on the floor, on top of the weird woven rug thing Cas had. _Where the hell did he even get all this stuff?_ Cas’ voice mingled with the calming, continuous pounding of rain outside, “Close your eyes.”

“Why?” He glared at him.

Cas sighed, even his resilient, endless patience starting to falter, “You said you trusted me.” Dean grumbled, but closed his eyes, still very weary and aware of everything Cas was doing. His voice drifted back into the air again, smooth and low like a bass guitar, “Let your hands rest gently on your knees… feeling the tension tingle in your fingertips… then let it melt away.” Dean peeked an eye open with a smirk on his face. Cas slapped the back of his head, “Eyes closed!”

Dean chuckled to himself, closing his eyes again, internally sighing at all of this. “Dean, please, just give it a try, you’ll like it, I promise.” He watched the rowdy man relax slightly back into the position, sitting with a terribly hunched back. Cas touched his back gently, cooing, “Feel your spine elongate and rise, bringing you to a strong, yet relaxed sitting pose.”

“Oh, I’m feelin’ it, baby.” Dean joked, hissing laughter through his teeth.

“Stop it! This is serious, Dean.”

“No, this is bullshit. Sorry. I tried.” He moved up from sitting, standing on his feet again and looking down at the still-composed brunette. “I’m not doing this, Cas.” He reached down for his jacket, picking it up off the ground and slinging it onto his shoulders, into place. He walked away from him to grab his shoes at the door, crunching and putting them on.

Cas followed him, “Dean… you didn’t even give it a chance.”

“Yes, I did.” He laced his boots back up, standing and bringing his arms out to his sides, then dropping them, looking at Cas’ slightly distressed face. “Sorry, that’s just not me.”

“But Dean-"

“Goodnight, Cas.” He slammed the door behind him, stomping back out into the storm, headed back toward the storage shed. _‘Anger problem, my ass.’_


End file.
